


Of Threats And First Meetings

by RagingBookDragon



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Explicit Language, Flirting, Healing, Humor, Humorous Ending, It's a romance, Like...they're meeting, Magic, Sarcasm, So it's the beginning!, Suggestive Themes, Threats of Violence, but not yet?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagingBookDragon/pseuds/RagingBookDragon
Summary: She's not exactly open about her past, but knowing someone's past has never really been important to Brynjolf in the chase of pleasure. With every mission she completes for the Guild, he can tell the others' opinions of her are changing, not that they'd tell her. And for Brynjolf? Well, she's not being subtle with her quips--not that he is either. A few flirtatious comments here, a few suggestive comments there, and he's realizing that he wants to know her past, which scares him. Maybe she'll tell him, maybe she won't. It all depends on how deep he's willing to dive for her, and she the same for him. But that curse that is supposedly running the Guild into the ground is about to rear its head and they might not have time for that dinner after all.
Relationships: Brynjolf & Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Brynjolf/Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Brynjolf/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I think we can agree that I not only suck at summaries, but also tagging! I promise this is a good little piece! Thank you for reading! -Thorne

Her legs ached with each step she took, but she pushed through it, descending the steps into The Ragged Flagon. She took note of the intimidating Nord standing at the walkway, but her rope had become too frayed to even pay any mind to his threat as she crossed over the wooden path. She stopped short of the tables and scanned the dingy bar until she came across the man she’d been looking for.

Walking over, she placed her hands on the edge of the table and asked, “You Brynjolf?”

The scarlet haired Nord didn’t look up from his cards as he lazily retorted, “I might be. And that might depends on what is it you’re after.”

She pulled the chair out and plopped down, listening to the scabbard of her dragon sword scrape against the back. “I’m looking for an old man named Esbern. He’s in danger and I need to find him before it finds him first.”

Finally, he looked up, regarding her with curious green eyes. “I’ve heard the rumors of the Dragonborn…bound in the scales of dragons…wielding blades made from their bones...” He paused, gazing at the iron mask she wore. “Wearing a mask taken from the Dragon Priest of Valthume.”

She narrowed her eyes behind her mask, but kept her voice level as she said, “Glad to know my reputation precedes me.” She scratched a finger in the table, adding, “I didn’t even have time to get back to Riverwood.” Looking at him, she muttered, “The Thalmor are hot on my heels, and if I don’t find Esbern before they do, I’m in trouble. Can you help me?”

He chuckled, laying the cards on the table as he reclined in his chair, quipping, “Expecting free information, eh? Help me deal with business first, then we'll see how I can help you. Besides, you look like your pockets are a little light on coin, am I right?"

She ignored the stab of irritation that soared through her chest and she leaned forward, retorting, “Let me find him first. Dragons are bad for business.”

Brynjolf hummed. “Passing on a golden opportunity is worse."

She could feel her eye twitch as the annoyance began melting into something darker, and much worse. “I understand you’re probably in need of help, but this is more important.”

The Nord shrugged, eyes going back to his cards as he finalized, “And I'm busy. You help me out, and I'll help you out. That's just how it is."

After almost two months of constant running and fighting across the land, being told what to do over and over, no one listening to what she wanted, and counting the two full days of sprinting from Solitude to Riften, something inside her snapped, and she brought her arm up fast as a thunderbolt, slamming the dragon bone dagger into the table. The sound silenced everyone in the bar and Brynjolf barely had time to look up at her before he was jerked forward by his collar, coming face to face with the iron masked Dragonborn.

Fury colored her voice as she hissed, “Listen and listen well you thieving bastard. I have been busting my ass ever since finding out I was the Dragonborn. I have poured my sweat, I have poured my blood, and I have poured my tears into making this work. And still it’s not enough. I’m still being jerked around my assholes who don’t think I’m not good enough to be the Dragonborn. Do you know what I do to assholes who think they have the balls to talk shit like that to my face?”

He didn’t say anything, and she spat, “I burn the alive with my Thu’um.” She paused, tightening her fingers, and he swallowed thickly. “You know that dragon that was at Helgen? The giant black one? The one who’s raising all the other dragons back from the grave?”

He nodded and she snapped, “That was The World Eater.” His green eyes widened. “Alduin has returned and I’m the only one who can stop him. If the Thalmor kill Esbern, then I can’t stop him, and we’re all fucked. So how ‘bout you do me a favor and tell me where he is before _I make you_.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, then he murmured, “Your guy's hiding out in the Ratway Warrens and paying us good coin for nobody to know about it. Well, until now that is. Tell you what. Go ahead and deal with your business for now. When you're done, find me and we'll deal with mine." Brynjolf pointed to the door leading past the bar, adding, “Thalmor agents went in a few minutes ago.”

She let him go, yanking the dagger from the table to shove it back into her belt. He breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short lived as she reached behind her and pulled the dragon bone longsword from her back.

Pointing it at him, she threatened, “If he’s dead, then you’d better start running. Because there isn’t a place between here and Oblivion that can give you safe harbor from me.” She spun on her heel, shoving past the older, bald-headed man, and headed for the door.

As she disappeared inside it, the older man sat down beside Brynjolf, wondering, “I do believe that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you cave like that Bryn.”

The auburn headed man hummed, narrowing his eyes as a deafening shout and pained screams echoed behind the closed door. “I’ve never been threatened by someone who can breathe fire before Delvin.” He looked over at the older man, a smirk crossing his lips. “But something tells me that she’d going to be back real soon.”

Delvin scoffed, a grin playing his lips too as he countered, “That woman is going to eat you alive.”


	2. PT. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been forever since I updated this! I wrote this a while ago and posted it to my Tumblr (I think??) and forgot to post it here as well! Enjoy! -Thorne

“Well lass, welcome to the family. I'm expecting you to make us a lot of coin, so don't disappoint me."

She snorted at his slight congratulations and looked over at him. “Then prepare to be disappointed because that’s all I am.” Ignoring his cocked eyebrow, she said, “So, tell me about this job I’m supposed to be doing.”

Brynjolf nodded at her, explaining, “Goldenglow Estate is a bee farm over a ways on the lake. They raise the wretched little things for honey. It's owned by some smart-mouth high elf named Aringoth. We need you to teach him a lesson by burning down three of the estate's hives and clearing out the safe in the main house.”

Curiously, she looked at him. “You mean the place that’s near Merryfair farm?” The auburn-haired Nord nodded at her question and she grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well… _horse shit_. I wish I’d’ve known what you guys wanted from there when I was inside a few days ago.”

He blinked in shock. “Wait, you’ve _already_ been inside Goldenglow?”

Her face warmed and she sunk her neck into her shoulders, murmuring, “I saw the beehives as I was walking along the road. Bees make good alchemic potions when mixed the right ingredients.” She waved a hand, brushing off her excuse. “Anyway, is that all we need from there? The safe contents and three hives burned?” He nodded and she turned, marching off towards the ladder.

He shook his head, calling out to her, “Wait lass! You didn’t even get your armor from Tonilia!”

She raised a hand at him and continued to the ladder, quipping, “Don’t need it. I’ll be back in about two hours.”

“What about Vex!”

She spun and added, rather cockily, _“Bryn, if I’ve already been inside, why would I go and talk to someone who couldn’t get in?”_ Brynjolf’s jaw went slack and she winked before climbing the ladder.

*******

Word of their newest member’s success had spread through the guild like fire on a hillside, or like fire on beehives, but Brynjolf had yet to see her return. He waited patiently, eyes scanning over the documents for the next few shipments they were going to receive, when a bag plopped down on the table in front of him with a wet thunk. He looked up from the pages, eyes going wide with momentary shock that quickly gave way to amusement.

The Nord placed the pages down, opening up the damp satchel. “Decide to take a bath while you were there, eh lass?”

He drew his gaze to her, watching as her face pinched with irritation, and she griped, “I didn’t have time to cast an invisibility spell once the hives were on fire. Mercs were swarming the area.”

“So, you took a dive into the lake to get away. You know there’s a bridge that leads to the island, right?”

She grunted, dropping into the seat across from him, eyes directed up to the ceiling as she lolled her head back. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I was aware of the bridge. Again, mercenaries were crawling out of the woodworks. I didn’t have a lot of options.” Sighing, she looked at him. “Regardless, something bigger is going on than what we’re seeing.” She nodded at the letter he pulled out. “He sold Goldenglow.”

Brynjolf’s green eyes went wide and he glanced down at the letter, reading quickly, muttering, “Aringoth _sold_ Goldenglow? What's that idiot thinking? He has no idea the extent of Maven's fury when she's been cut out of a deal, but I'm certain he'll find out. If only the parchment had the buyer's name instead of this odd symbol. Any idea what that might be?”

She shook her head, propping her feet up on the table, eyeing the other thieves walking around. “Dunno. I just lifted the key and went to the basement.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t even talk to him?”

She hummed, scratching at the oak table. “Nah. I’m pretty sure that even if I did, he wouldn’t give me much. I just got the information and came back.” Eyeing him, she murmured, “I’m sure your sources would have a better chance at getting info than I would.”

He grunted, placing the latter back on the table. “ _Blast_. Well, I'll check my sources and speak to Mercer. But for now, you're off to speak to Maven Black-Briar. She asked for _you_ by _name_."

Her face pinched again, and she grumbled, “I have to talk to that _old hag_? _For what?_ ”

Brynjolf chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest as he countered, “That's between _you_ and _Maven_ and _I_ prefer to keep it that way. Don't worry about it. Maven's business dealings usually involve quite a bit of gold for her people."

Scoffing, she reached down and wrung the leftover water from her tavern skirt. _“I’m not worried about Maven. She doesn’t even make my top one hundred list of things that worry me.”_

He regarded her with a curious, but cautious look as he murmured, “You don’t seem to be afraid of much lass. Even with someone like Maven, who wields the _Dark Brotherhood_.” She arched an eyebrow, reaching into the bag. One after the other, she tossed letters his way, watching as he opened them and read them silently.

When he was finished, he looked back at her and she declared, “Whoever this Astrid is has sent at least _six_ _assassins_ after me.” She dropped her feet to the floor, leaning over to whisper, _“If Maven ever wants me dead, she’d have to do it herself because so far, the Dark Brotherhood is nothing but a group of the worst assassins I’ve ever seen.”_ Rising, she gathered her things, slinging the satchel over her body. “You’re right about one thing Brynjolf. I’m not afraid of much. In fact, there’s _nothing_ I’m afraid of.” Casting one last glance at him, she advised, _“Everything in Tamriel should be more afraid of me.”_ She sauntered off to the other table, placing down a small bee statue in front of Delvin, beginning to broker a payment for it.

He gazed at her for a moment, watching the way she crossed her arms under her breasts in an effort to distract the thief, then looked back at the notes she’d tossed him. He’d never met Astrid like Delvin had, but he knew her and her sanctuary’s reputation. If his newest guildmate was tough enough to take out _six assassins and get into a manor swarming with mercenaries undetected_ , he needed to do some digging. No one was this good, and as much as he believed in luck, this catch was _too_ lucky for his taste.

She moved with a silent grace that stunned him. So many times, she appeared beside him before he could even realize she was there. And he only realized it because she let him. Her stealth was only rivaled by her cockiness in her— _no, not cockiness_ —she wasn’t cocky for the sake of being so. She had the skill to back up her word.

He observed her as she grinned at Delvin, pocketing the gold he’d paid her for the statue. Feeling eyes on her, she glanced over, meeting Brynjolf’s. A bolt of understanding flashed between them and she drew her fingers across Delvin’s shoulders as she made her way to the cistern.


	3. PT. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't remember the last time I updated this...but it's much longer than the usual parts. Enjoy! -Thorne

Brynjolf felt like he should’ve known that Gulum-Ei was the one brokering the deals that were tearing the Guild to pieces. The damned argonian couldn’t resist a payout, even if it was the Guild he was backstabbing—it said a lot about honor amongst thieves, and while Brynjolf couldn’t claim to be the most honorable, at least he had some. All things considered, he couldn’t fault Gulum-Ei for doing it, whoever it was that wanted the Guild taken out was no doubt dishing out some serious coin to make it happen.

That being said, their newest member was again tasked with the mission. Brynjolf wasn’t going to voice his opinion out loud, but he knew that she was running herself into the ground. He was sure that she’d not taken a moment of reprieve to simply breathe before throwing herself back into the thick of things. Quite the opposite, she’d taken a couple more jobs from both Vex and Delvin—though Brynjolf was sure she’d only taken them because the two thieves had essentially guilt tripped her. He watched her as Mercer walked off, leaving her to rub at her temples, a heavy sigh falling from her lips.

“Wondering if you’re in over your head, lass?” he inquired, leaning back against the desk as he crossed his arms over his chest.

She snorted and rolled her shoulders. “Only every moment of every day, Brynjolf.” Catching his eyes, she quipped, “Why is it that _I’m_ the one who’s being given the major missions and _not_ the _other_ members of the Guild?”

He mocked a look of deep thought then offered, “You’re not a senior member so you do what we tell you? Her eyes briefly widened before she burst into laughter, the sound making Brynjolf’s stomach flip.

“Oh ho? It’s seniority then?” she leaned close, mirth in her eyes as she questioned, “So when does the newbie get to claim seniority?”

Brynjolf grinned at her. “I’d say a couple years.”

“ _What_!”

“Maybe a few if I’m being completely honest.”

A groan passed her lips. “By that time, you lot will _actually_ be seniors—well, not that you’re young now.”

He almost recoiled at that. Almost. “Did yo—did you just call me _old_?”

She placed a hand on his bicep, sympathetically replying, “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not exactly a _stripling_ anymore, Brynjolf.”

Blinking, he deadpanned, “I don’t think I’ve ever been called old by a woman before.”

Grinning, she asked, “Tell me, do _all_ the young women you take to bed call you sprightly?” He nodded and she giggled. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Brynjolf.”

She leaned close until her lips brushed his ear, whispering, “When we call you older men _sprightly_ , it’s only so you don’t feel bad about your age.”

Brynjolf turned slightly, catching her gaze, and murmured, “ _That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one day_ , _lass_.”

Her eyes narrowed as she mused, “So far it’s gotten me _out_ of trouble.” She pulled away and tugged the shawl over her bare shoulders, turning to make her way back to the Flagon.

She stopped a few feet though and glanced over her shoulder. “But if it means I’d be in trouble with _you_ , Brynjolf, I don’t think I’d mind it.” Winking, she left him to flounder with the suggestion of her words.

*******

Her side ached with a fury, and the continual prodding of the linen against the wound didn’t help. With each brush against the open wound, it sent a bolt of fire through her nerves, as if she were being stuck with a hot poker. Still though, she focused on returning to the city, knowing that if she could just get home, she’d be able to clean and stitch it up.

Softly moaning, she slipped inside the gate, turning down the narrow alley that led into Honeyside’s garden. Briefly, she brought her free hand up and felt along the wall to lead her. As she neared the garden, movement flashed in her vision and she stopped in her tracks, squinting in the darkness to discern what it was. Someone was bent over one of the barrels in the corner and she growled.

“This is private property. _Piss off_.”

They stood upright, turning round to face her and when the moonlight illuminated their features beneath the hood, she muttered, “Brynjolf?”

He raised a hand, pushing the hood up slightly, stepping towards her. “Lass? What are you doing here? I thought you were heading to Solitude?”

She shook her head, then winced when a flash of nausea came over her. “No, had to do something’s around here before I did.” A sudden flash of pain simmered in her side and a groan passed her lips, the throbbing threatening to send her to her knees.

“Lass?” he questioned, voice twinged with worry. “Are you alright?” Waving him off, she pulled from the wall, trying to get to the door of Honeyside.

“‘m fine,” she grunted, though her vision began to blur with darkness. “Just gotta…get some rest.”

She’d barely made it two feet when her knees finally gave out, sending her towards the dirt. Just before she hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her from kissing the floor, pulling her up.

“ _Lass_!” he yelled, then he cursed, concerned that the guards would come running. “What happened?” he demanded, curling an arm under her legs to pick her up. The jostling made her groan, and she fought the urge to recoil from him when the buckle of his chest armor nudged her side.

“ _Ngh_ —steam centurion in Avanchnzel.” She hissed when he started walking, switching her grip to curl her arm around his shoulders, hoping it would steady her. “Caught the backside of the battle— _ngh_ —axe when I was dodging it.”

Brynjolf turned and nudged the door to Honeyside open, bringing her inside.

“When I’m not dying, I’m going to kick your ass for break— _sonovabitch_!” she gasped when he dropped her on the bed, hurrying towards the kitchen to gather supplies.

He returned and started pulling the laces of her tavern corset undone. Despite the pain, she giggled, “Most men buy me _dinner_ first.” A grin set on his lips as he pulled the last string loose, yanking the cedar-colored corset from around her.

“I’ll treat you to dessert after,” he mused, then looked up at her. “Skirt or straps?”

Her brows furrowed. “Beg pardon?”

“Either I’m lifting your skirt up or I’m pulling your straps down. Make up your mind which decency you’d like to keep,” he countered, and she huffed, reaching up to slip the ringed straps from her shoulders.

“Should’ve known a _scoundrel_ like you was a skirt lifter. Despicable.”

Brynjolf barked a laugh, helping her to roll the gold fabric down. “Please, _I_ haven’t lifted skirts since I was a boy.”

“ _Mhm_.”

“Honest, lass. I’ve grown out of immature acts like that,”’ he explained as the poorly wrapped wound came into sight. It’d soaked crimson in the time she’d travelled back, and he frowned as he untied the knot, gently peeling it back. She started to let out a whimper but grit her teeth and inhaled sharply.

“Sorry lass,” Brynjolf murmured, wiping at the blood. He glanced up, watching as she propped herself up on her elbows, hands clenching into fists.

“Just hurry up and seal it,” she griped, and he passed her a strip of leather. Seeming to understand, she brought it up to her mouth and bit into it, then met his eyes and nodded.

Sighing heavily, he rose from the side of the bed and returned with the hot knife that had been sitting right next to the fire—she could feel the heat when he brought it close to her, kneeling back on the bed.

He met her eyes and she inhaled deeply, giving him a nod of her head. Brynjolf rested his other hand on the side of her ribs a few inches above the wound, effectively bracing himself as well as keeping her still.

Lowering the metal to her, he said, “Try and stay still. I don’t wanna burn you where you’re not wounded.” She barely made a noise of confirmation when the burning metal came into contact with her skin.

Her eyes went wide, and she immediately threw her head back into the bed as a muffled scream escaped her, hands white knuckling the covers of her blanket. A deep pit fell in his stomach at the tears that began to run down her cheeks, but he kept the knife to her for another couple seconds before pulling it back, watching as her chest heaved with each breath. Glancing back at the wound, he knew she needed another go, probably two if he was honest.

“I need to do it again,” Brynjolf murmured and she groaned like a dying animal. “I know lass, but you’re _still_ bleeding.” She sucked in a quick breath through her nose and grunted, muscles tensing underneath his grip as she readied herself once more.

He flipped the knife in his grip and placed it to her side again, and the screech that left her this time, made him wince, but he held it there. After a couple seconds, he pulled the knife away and examined the wound, and when he saw that it wasn’t bleeding anymore, he tossed the knife aside, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Lass? You alright?” his eyes scanned her for any problems, and she turned her head to the side, spitting out the leather strip. Letting out a huff, she brought up a hand, intent to prod the wound, but he caught it. “Don’t touch it yet.” He met her eyes. “Do you have any distilled alcohol?”

Groaning heavily, she nodded. “Downstairs in my…alchemy room.” She swallowed thickly. “There’s a few…health and disease potions too.” Meeting his eyes, she added, “Bring one of each…please.”

Brynjolf nodded and headed down the stairs, coming up a few moments later with two tiny red vials and one large clear bottle. He set them on her nightstand before gently curling his arms underneath her back to shift her over slightly. When there was enough space, he sat beside her and grabbed the glass bottle, uncorked it, and poured some on a spare linen cloth. Brynjolf dabbed the wound, quietly apologizing when she hissed in pain.

When he was finished, he took the fresh wrap and helped her sit up so he could wrap it around her waist. Tying it with a knot, he handed her the two vials, gazing as she downed them both before looking at him with an expression of relief. Suddenly feeling weak, she leaned forward, careful to avoid her wound, and pressed her forehead into Brynjolf’s shoulder. He brought up a hand, softly caressing the bare expanse of her back.

“Thank you, Brynjolf,” she whispered, shivers running up her spin at his touch. “I would’ve been in a perilous state if you hadn’t been around.”

Chuckling, he replied, “I would say anytime, but I don’t wanna have to do this again for a long time, so try to stay safe.”

A snort escaped her, and she turned her head up, resting her cheek on his shoulder, gazing into his eyes. “Why try when _this_ is the treatment?”

His green eyes narrowed as he retorted, “While I’m flattered that you want me as a bedside-nurse, I _really_ _don’t_ wanna do this again.” He brough his other hand up, gently touching her cheek. “I _already_ worry about you. No need to up it.”

“You worry? _Does that make me special_?” she cooed tiredly, pulling away from him to lay back on the bed.

Brynjolf huffed a laugh and stood, opening the closet beside her bed. “You enjoy teasing me, lass.”

“ _Is it working_?” she asked, watching as he pulled out a simple blue tunic. Shuffling around on the bed, she managed to wiggle the tavern skirt to her calves and when he spun around, Brynjolf’s eyes swept over her body.

“Shame on you for ogling an indecent woman, Brynjolf. What would Lady Mara think?” she tutted, and he grinned at her.

“I’m not sure about Lady Mara, but _I certainly_ know what Lady Dibella would do,” he countered, and she giggled.

“ _Now who’s teasing_?” He handed her the tunic, and she shrugged it on, pulling it down her chest and over her thighs. Brynjolf helped her under the covers, watching as her eyelids began to slip shut. Just to be sure, at least that’s what he told himself, he laid his palm over her forehead, checking for warmth.

Her eyes opened slightly, and he said, “Make sure you change the wrap when you wake up in the morning. Don’t wanna get an infection on the way to Solitude.”

She nodded, letting out a yawn and sunk into her pillow. “Yeah, yeah, I will.”

“ _Lass_ ,” he warned, and she huffed, a smile spreading on her lips.

“ _I will_ , **_promise_**.”

Brynjolf gave her a look and pulled his hand away. “I’ll take my leave of you.” As he neared the doors to her patio, she called for him.

“Brynjolf?” he paused and glanced over his shoulder, heart fluttering in his chest as she whispered, “Thank you…for saving me like this.”

He gave her a smile. “Of course, lass. _I’ll be here whenever you need me to be_.” He pulled the door open, smile growing larger when he heard her sleepily murmur,

“ ** _Hope it stays that way_**.”


End file.
